


might have thought that we were one

by somethingdifferent



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: F/M, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest, simply bc i cannot be bothered to wait until ive caught up with the show to write fic, this is fucked up but what else is new, this is set before the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:24:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3343562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingdifferent/pseuds/somethingdifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twin telepathy, everyone always said; he wonders if they're thinking the same thing right now.</p><p>(Or, the one where Dennis does his sister.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	might have thought that we were one

_why not fight this war without weapons?_

sia, elastic heart

 

 

 

 

They spend a lot of time together, all of them, and that's difficult enough to expect any girl to understand (any girl that lasts longer than a week - that is to say, not many). But once one of them realizes that he and Dee are related, for some reason it becomes infinitely worse to talk about.

 _It's creepy,_ one will usually comment a few weeks in, _how often you're with her._

 _She's my_ _sister_ , he'll say sometimes, as if that alone can explain it.

Perhaps inevitably, it can't.

 

* * *

 

_(2:30 AM_

_On a Tuesday_

_Philadelphia, PA)_

 

 

_(2003)_

 

He's almost drunk, but not quite - he's at that stage where he might black out with another drink or two, but not at that stage where he can't feel his own face. Dennis likes this kind of drunkenness. This is where he thrives. This is where he practically _lives_.

It also means that he's way better off than both Mac and Charlie. Not that that's a difficult thing to achieve.

The bar is closed, empty except for them and the guy Dee has been flirting with all night - a typical subject, one with brown hair and blue eyes and a rumpled polo shirt he obviously dug out of the bottom of his hamper in some delusion of style, probably his "getting lucky" shirt, he seems the type. He's alright looking, Dennis thinks absently. Dee could probably do better. Not that he'd tell her that.

"Yeah," Charlie scoffs, swinging his bottle in a wide arc as he sways on the barstool, "he's totally gonna nail your sister."

Dennis looks blankly at the guy, how he leans in close, smiles wide as a shark, checks out Dee's ass when she turns away briefly to berate Mac for something he said. It's only a second, Dennis not responding, but it might as well be an eternity.

He can't quite recall how he's supposed to react. Anger? Disgust? Jealousy - maybe that last one isn't right. If he has to conjure them up, these _emotions_ , he thinks he might be sick.

"God damn it," he forces out finally, "that's fucking gross."

Charlie just shrugs and grins that stupid grin he has. "That guy's gonna bang your sis-ter," he singsongs through his laughter.

Then Dennis punches Charlie in the throat so that he chokes a little, and balance is restored.

But still. There is that guy. There is that guy and his stupid polo shirt and the way he puts his hand on Dee's waist and Dennis is - Dennis is _pissed_. For absolutely no reason. If only he could remember - but he's two drinks away from blacking out, maybe one drink, and he can't quite bring himself to muster up the right emotions. It's difficult enough to do sober.

If his sister is going to fuck some guy, if his sister is going to fuck some stranger in their bar, then Dennis should be what? Grossed out? Angry? Disappointed? Jealous?

He still doesn't have that last one right -

"Hey, guys," Dee says, sidling up to the bar where Charlie is still recovering, "I'm heading out for the night."

Mac makes some half-hearted protest, but stops after a moment in favor of taking another swig of his beer. Charlie just does a little salute, still unable to speak.

"Fine," Dennis says, and he's certain it was the right thing. Probably shouldn't add anything else.

Dee attempts a smile, but ends up grimacing. The guy's arm isn't around her waist anymore. His hand has slipped away, resting on her ass. "Alright, see you -"

"Wait," Dennis hears himself say, and he can see the way the excitement begins to fade from her eyes, replaced by something harder, meaner. "Shit, Dee, don't you have that doctor's appointment tomorrow?"

"What doctor's appointment?" the idiot asks, nervousness beginning to seep into his tone.

"Oh, no," Dennis replies before Dee can get a word in edgewise, his words overly assuring, accommodating. He can practically see the wheels turning in the bastard's fat head. "It's nothing, really, isn't it, Dee? Just a few weeks of the treatment. That's what they were saying -"

"Mike," Dee interjects quickly, her voice an octave too high, "Dennis is -"

"No, he's right. You've gotta wake up early, I guess, for - for whatever, it's cool - I mean - I'll see you later."

And before anyone can say anything else, the guy is out of the door. Mac and Charlie are gone too, having gotten the hell out of dodge as soon as Dennis started talking again, and the bar is empty, empty of everyone except for them.

Dee turns to him, hackles raised and as livid as he's ever seen her.

"Dennis," she begins, voice dangerously quiet, "what the fuck was that?"

He feels suddenly clear-headed, as if he'd been drinking nothing more than water. In his first smart move of the night, he keeps his mouth shut.

"Why the _fuck_ ," Dee continues, louder this time, and each word punctuated by a sharp jab against his chest over the bar, "did you do that?"

"I don't know," he says, more honest than he's ever been. He walks away from the argument, toward the office, ignoring the stomp of Dee's feet as she follows him, a thin, spidery creature filled to the brim with righteous anger. "Because it was funny, maybe. Jesus, Dee, I don't fucking know. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," she nearly screams, pushing the door closed as she strides toward the desk, cutting off his escape behind it before he can think to move. The room keeps getting smaller, and Dee keeps getting bigger and bigger. "You always do this, you fucker, and you're never sorry, and you always, you always - God damn it, Dennis!"

He's too drunk for this. He's not drunk enough for it. Dee crowds him against the desk, using every inch she has, just a bit shorter than him, and her arms and legs look so thin; sometimes he forgets these things about her until she hits him in the face with it. For all he and the guys make fun of her, she really is pretty. In a birdlike, bug-eyed way.

"I don't know," he repeats, softer than before. They're so close, he doesn't need to shout. Doesn't want to. "I'm sorry, Dee. I won't do it again."

At this, she finally backs up a little, creates a foot of space where there was none just a moment ago.

"Jesus, Dennis," she says, her voice wavering. "I really fucking hate you. God damn it." There might be tears in her eyes. He can't tell, sometimes. "I really hate you."

She might try to say something else, too, but suddenly Dennis is leaning forward, and he swallows the words for the both of them.

Her mouth is open, and he matches her. They always were ridiculously good at those mirroring games from when Dee made him take acting classes with her. _Twin telepathy,_ the teacher called it. When they were kids, he used to try to test that, give himself little scrapes and see if she hurt too, if they were the same like everyone said they were. In high school, he stopped those dumb experiments - they're fraternal twins, after all, so it's not as if that'd be applicable to them. But sometimes, he'd wake up in the morning, and his back would ache, and he felt like crying even though there was no good reason to, and he wondered. And when he broke his leg the summer after sophomore year jumping from the roof of their house, Dee fell to the ground as soon as he started crying from the pain, as if someone had kicked at the back of her knee.

His hands drop back to his sides a heartbeat before she shoves him away.

She doesn't say anything, doesn't say a word about what he just did - what _they_ just did, because if he's a bad person (and he's a bad person) then so is she. Dee only waits, staring at him unblinkingly.

So he reaches for her again.

Things move quickly after that. One moment he's tugging her shirt up and pressing his hands against the skin of her stomach, and she's jumping at it, saying his hands are too cold. The next moment he's bending over her on the desk, all of the papers and office supplies scattered across the floor, tucking his head into the crook of her neck, leaning back and looking at her looking at him, and then he's inside of his sister, and thinking if he could, he'd want to be buried like this.

If he - he doesn't know - but if he loves anyone at all in the world aside from himself, it's her. It's her.

"Dennis," she moans, her fingernails carving patterns into his shoulder blades, underneath the shirt he couldn't be bothered to take off all the way. "Dennis, you're -"

"I'm what?" he asks, nearly desperate, as he presses himself deeper in, pulls back, pushes forward again. "Fuck, Dee."

"You - you feel so -" Her voice strangles in her throat before she can finish, and before she can catch her breath, he kisses her again, kisses her before she can finish that thought.

You feel so good? So _right_? For once, he doesn't want to hear that.

Instead, he breathes in, feels her shiver into pieces in his hands, like water falling through his fingers, and comes undone inside of her.

If he does, he thinks idly, laying back on the desk and steadfastly ignoring the mess they've made. If he does, it's her.

"Shit," Dee murmurs, too far gone to sound truly upset. "Oh, fuck, Dennis."

He doesn't respond. There's nothing to say, really. _Twin telepathy,_ everyone always said; he wonders if they're thinking the same thing right now. There's a hitch in her breath that means she might begin to cry, and he decides, yeah. They probably are.

His head is starting to ache. Next to him, Dee slides one hand up and tugs at her hair. With the other, she threads their fingers together.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
